


Infection

by rosegoldpearls



Series: Daryl Dixon Drabbles [3]
Category: The Walking Dead, The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, I’m currently suffering with the flu so this was like therapy lol, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 21:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15155660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldpearls/pseuds/rosegoldpearls
Summary: Season 4. You come down with the flu, causing some fear, but mostly fluff.





	Infection

It started slowly. There was no warning signs, nothing that stood out enough to become a cause for concern. Sure, you were sleeping a little bit more, an extra half hour here and there, but you chalked that up to the heat. Or maybe it was the extra work you were putting into the prison, what with the reinforcements that needed constant, well, reinforcement. The walkers seemed to be piling up in larger groups everyday, all up in a heap over something that no one could see.

 

Then Karen and David were found, and it was like chaos descended on the prison in an instant. Like it had been creeping in the shadowy hallways, watching, and waiting for that one particular moment to unleash itself upon the unsuspecting inhabitants inside.

 

Patrick was the first to die of it. Karen and David had been killed by a person, a person who was still unknown, but Patrick’s death had been caused by something else. He had died in a cell block, all alone. He had turned, and managed to take out a good chunk of the Woodbury residents before eventually being taken down, the bodies piled up beside him. It was a flu, they had learned. Some sort of mutated, extra-strong, killer flu. As if they needed anymore mutated, extra-strong viruses going around. The walkers outside were probably laughing at them now.

 

You had limited exposure to the Woodbury residents, partly because of how hard you were working, and partly because of the wondering eyes of some of the men from there. You weren’t too bothered by them, as most of the men were harmless, but your boyfriend, Daryl, wasn’t too pleased. He knew first hand how the people of this new world weren’t to be trusted, how even old friends could become new enemies, so you couldn’t blame him for his protectiveness. It was nice, knowing someone had your back.

 

Still, you had bonded with some of the members. The older residents and the kids, mainly. Patrick was one of the people you had grown fond of. He was a good kid, polite and always eager to show his appreciation, to keep the peace. He was gentle, and entirely not made for this world, but his passing was surprising, even still.

 

The whole prison had gone on lockdown, Patrick’s original cell block becoming a quarantine zone. Anyone who was sick, or suspected to be sick, were moved there. The doctors of the prison had also, selflessly taken up residence, trying desperately to stem the spread of this new virus.

 

If anyone experienced any symptoms, they were to go straight to the quarantine block, and limit their exposure along the way. The symptoms were just like the common cold; congestion, a cough, headaches. It was tough, trying to distinguish between something harmless and something sinister. If someone cleared their throat, they were scrutinised for it, just in case. Everyone was on edge, watching themselves and watching each other, so it was surprising that no one really noticed your downfall.

 

It was the fatigue that set in first. Suddenly, the smallest of motions exhausted you. Even tying your laces in the morning set you back a good twenty minutes. When the first, real symptoms began to set in, no one wanted to believe it.

 

A sneeze.

 

“You have allergies, though, right?”

 

A cough.

 

“The water must have gone against you.”

 

A headache.

 

“Well, you’ve been out in the sun all day. Go inside, and have a rest.”

 

It was only 2 days before people started to accept it. You were sick. The first member of their group, their family. You were infected.

 

People reacted the way you expected them too. Hershel came to visit you, softly confirming what you already knew. Rick pulled Daryl aside, unaware that you were already packing some things. Rick whispered to Daryl, trying his best to be comforting, and mask the true worry he felt. Daryl reacted, saying it was nothing more than allergies, and that you’d “be just damn fine!”. It took you interfering, calling his name softly as you wobbled on your shaky legs, for him to fully realise the severity of the situation.

 

Hershel escorted you to the quarantine cell block, while Daryl tore his way through the prison, gathering supplies and a list of medications so that he, and a few others, could go out and get them.

 

“Ain’t gonna let you die over a damn sniffle,” Daryl growled from behind the protective glass, his hand shaking where he held it against the glass, the only sign of his true fear.

 

“It’s a bit more than a sniffle, Dixon,” you croaked back, cracking a sad smile.

 

“Ain’t gonna die,” he repeated, leaning his forehead against the glass before pushing off, and disappearing down the hall.

 

Rick came around a few minutes later, to check up on things. He informed you that Daryl had left on his mission already, and offered his well wishes, pain barely hidden in his blue eyes.

 

That was the last, clear memory you had. Everything seemed to go downhill from that moment forward. You could just about remember when you collapsed. It was after visiting Glenn, who had also come down with the flu. The two of you were clinging to each other, sharing your fear, and finding comfort in a strong friendship that had been there since the beginning. Glenn had fallen asleep, and you had removed yourself from his cell. The second you stepped outside, your knees buckled, and you fell to the floor.

 

You remember, through foggy eyes, waking up to see Hershel leaning over you. His sympathetic eyes were comforting, his words making promises that you weren’t sure could be kept, and you had just enough time to wonder why he was there before you passed out again.

 

The pain you felt was indescribable. Your head pounded as if someone had drilled your skull open, and let a jackhammer loose inside. Your eyes were heavy, your mouth unbelievably dry. There was something wet on your face, but you weren’t sure if it was tears or blood. Your body felt as though it was on fire, your muscles aching and throbbing, feeling as though they were crumbling under the weight of illness.

 

But the worst part was when everything stopped. You couldn’t feel anything at all. No pain, no fear. You knew something was wrong, very wrong. You half expected to see a light, but the pain burst back to life soon after, the panic hitting you full force. They always said that when you die, you feel no pain. Had that almost happened? Had you really almost -

 

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

 

Your heavy eyes snapped open, a new panic taking over you.

 

You can’t be here! Your mind screamed, the words refusing to leave your mouth. They couldn’t anyway, you discovered, as there was something covering your mouth, pushing air into your lungs.

 

“‘Ey, calm down,” Daryl’s voice soothed. “Doc’s got the medicine into you, I just gotta use this to help ya breathe.”

 

You forced your body to relax, eyes locked on Daryl’s, your shaky hand twitching towards his. He saw this, and grasped your hand with his free one.

 

“Gave ‘em hell of a scare,” Daryl said, breathing heavily all of a sudden. “Someone turned, got out, caused some trouble. Hershel got it under control but came ta look for ya when you didn’t wake up. Ya stopped breathin’, just as we got here. Almost couldn’t get ya back.”

 

Something wet fell onto your clasped hands, and you realised quickly it was a tear, from Daryl’s eyes.

 

“S... sorry,” you croaked, your voice muffled by the device.

 

Daryl bent down and leaned his forehead against yours. “Ain’t gotta apologise, jus’ happened. Told ya, ain’t gonna die. Ya always gotta tempt fate though.”

 

Despite your state, you managed to choke out a laugh. Daryl had had many “talks” with you about your reckless nature.

 

“Glad ya find it funny,” Daryl rolled his eyes. “I don’t.”

 

You squeezed his hand in response.

 

“Gonna try let you breathe on your own,” Daryl said. He began to draw away, slowly, watching as you sucked in a breath by yourself. The air around you felt stale, but the relief of your lungs working again took over everything else. You felt gross, and pain was still sneaking it’s way around your body, but you could feel again. There was no more nothing.

 

“Glenn?” You asked, after a couple of experimental deep breaths.

 

“Scared everyone too,” Daryl said, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “Maggie got to him in time, he’s ok. Both of ya need a couple days more rest, maybe a bit more medicine, but doc says ya should be fine, both of ya.”

 

You nodded, feeling relieved. Something Daryl had said fully registered, and you frowned.

 

“Someone turned?”

 

“Woodbury resident. Only managed to take out a couple people.” Daryl told you. “No one from our...”

 

You only managed to nod, exhaustion taking over once more. Daryl seemed to sense this, moving briefly to call Hershel in. You managed to give the man a smile as he checked you over, declaring you safe enough to sleep without aid. He left quickly, with other patients to look after calling his attention. Daryl sat back down, surprising you by scooting up behind you, and tucking your head against his neck.

 

“You can’t,” you coughed. “Still contagious.”

 

“Got medicine now,” Daryl shushed you, running his fingers through your tangled hair. “Ain’t gonna leave ya.”

 

“Don’t want you to get sick,” you sniffled, snuggling into him despite your protests.

 

“Then you can cuddle me,” Daryl said, and you felt him smile against your forehead. His lips pressed against your forehead. “For the record, I like bein’ the little spoon.”

 

You laughed, surprised by his joke, only to dissolve into a coughing fit.

 

“Sorry,” Daryl apologised, rubbing your back. “Guess I ain’t that funny.”

 

“You are,” you smiled. “Funny lookin’.”

 

“Well, if ya feelin’ so cheeky ‘gain,” Daryl teased, moving to get up and leave you in your cell alone. You gripped his shirt tightly, using all of your strength to pull him back.

 

Daryl settled back into the bed, pulling you to him once more. His face grew serious, and he suddenly couldn’t look at you, instead choosing to rest his chin against your head, pressing you into his body tightly.

 

“Never been so scared.”

 

He said it quietly, in a whisper that probably wasn’t meant to be heard.

 

“You saved me,” you said. “Knew ya would.”

 

Daryl squeezed you tightly, falling into silence. You rested your head against his chest, the sound of his strong, steady heartbeat pulling you down into a peaceful sleep, so unlike the last sleep you had been forced under.

 

“Love ya,” his voice whispered.

 

“Love you, too,” your voice whispered back, feeling stronger than it had in days.

 

It was there, in Daryl’s arms, that you finally fell asleep, feeling safe, and feeling more alive than ever.

 


End file.
